Authors: Iain M. Banks
Feersum Endjinn (37 page)
Ther’s anuthir cupil ov baloons up thare whare thi 1 that brot me up is heddin. I watch mine fump agenst thi side ov thi black coan. It goze on up, neerly disappers out ov 1 ov thi big long slits, then cums 2 a stop @ thi top ov thi shaft, between thi coan & thi shaft side, bobbin like a baloon lost 2 thi seelin @ a kids party.
O u silly fool Bascule, I fink 2 maself. I luke down thi shaft. How am I goan 2 get bak down now? Stil got thi parashoot but wifout thi baloon 2 slo me down inishily thi lammergeiers rekin thi parashoots neerly yoosless. O wel, mite as wel leev thi dam fing heer. I take it off & dump it by thi doarway.
Blimey its coald. I peer in2 thi darkniss beyond thi doar.
Thers anuthir doar & a sorta control-panil lookin thing. Cude b a lift I supose but I shude b so luky. Shurenuf, nuffink hapins when I press thi simbols. I try kriptin, very carefily & short-rainje, so it’s reely not like kriptin @ ol. Blimey; ther’s nuffink here! Not evin eny lectrix neerby! I never been so far away from thi kript, from sivilizayshin.
Nway, thi poynt is, this elivaiters ded.
Thers anuthir doar 2 1 side. It isnt qwite cloasd. I poosh it opin. Very dark, but thers steps thare ol rite. Ver dark indeed. Wish I stil had that torch. Spyril steps. Bludy big deep steps, 2; muss b only 3 2 a metir. O wel, I fink, tryin 2 encuridje myself; I didn ½ eny uthir plans 4 2day.
I start climein.
I count thi steps in hundreds, tryin 2 keep 2 a stedy rithim. It dozent get eny darkir or eny briter.
I try not 2 think about how hi I am, evin tho thers a kind ov pride in me that Ive got this far. I also try not 2 think about how Im goan 2 get down, or about thi peepil who shot thi rokit @ me & whithir they wil stil b thare if I am abil 2 find a way bak down. I pass anuthir side doar; its lokt. 500 steps. & anuthir doar. Its lokt 2. I also try not 2 fink ov ol thi fings u heer about thi fass towr; about reel ghosts or monstirs from b4 thi Diaspora or from thi depfs ov spaice or juss poot here 2 gard it & stop silly bags from attemptin 2 xploar it. I spend qwite a lot ov my time tryin not 2 fink about ol these fings.
Anuthir doarway. Thi doars r spaiced every 256 steps. Ol lokt so far.
1000 steps.
Suddenly thers sumthin ahed ov me, roun thi turn ov the stare; sumthin that lukes like its alive & waitin & crouchd lukein @ me.
Its stil olmost pitch blak but this things blakir, + its hooj & its poysd ovir me like sum avenjin ainjil ov darkniss. I feel 4 my nife. Thi fing abuv me on thi steps dozent moov. Id like 2 kid myself it iznt reely thare but it is. Cant find my nife. Itz hangin on a bit ov string sumwhare heer but I cant find it; o blimey, o fuk.
I find thi nife & hoald it out in front ov me wif 1 shakin hand. Thi blak thing stil dozent moov. I glanse bhind me. I cant go bak. I stare @ thi motionless thing blokin my way.
It takes a few moar moments 4 me to reelize.
Its thi frozin ded body ov thi lammergeier they sent up b4. I breev a bit eesier (if u can b sed 2 b breevin eesier when yoor lungz feel like thare about 2 cum out down yoor nose & yoor skin feels tot & about 2 split like a ripe froot), but when I go up past thi bird I try not 2 tutch it.
I keep goan.
Thers a doar @ 1024 steps, blokin thi way up. I try kriptin but thi doars lectricly ded. Thers a big sorta wheel thing on thi front so I spin it & aftir stikin @ furst, it turns. Aftir a offil lot ov wheel whirlin thers a clik. Thi doar stiks 2 but it opins eventchirly, hissin & skraypin.
On & up.
1500 steps.
I ½ 2 switch 2 thi furd & last oxijin botil @ 1540 steps.
Keep goan, keep goan, keep goan. Round & roun & roun & roun 4evir & evir & evir ...
2000. Keep climein. Roarin ears, flashin Is, sikniss in ma stumik, coppery tayst ov blud in ma mouf.
Am xpectin sumthin @ 2048 steps but I cant remember whot it is. I get thare & its a cloasd doar. I remembit thi last 1. Saim performins heer xept this 1 stiks wurse & can hardly moov thi bugir.
2200. 2202. 2222. I want 2 stop here, I keep bashin in2 thi wols & am fritind ov follin ol thi way bak down 2 wharevir it woz I startid from. Its so coald. I cant feel ma feet or ma hands. Tutch my nose wif ma gluv & cant feel that neevir. Hak & spit. Spit goze krik in mid-air. That meenz sumfin but I cant remember whot. Sumfin bad, I fink. 2300. 2303. 2333. Not sutch a good playce 2 stop. Fink Il keep goan.
2444. 2555. 2666.
I doan no whare Im goan nor barely whare I am eny moar. Im in a hooj screw fing what is windin down in2 thi erf as I clime up inside it.
2777. 2888. 2999, 3000.
Then thers a emptiness in ma lungz. I try hard 2 fink.
Im in thi fass towr, in a stareway. 3000 steps. I can c sum lites, but thare juss in ma Is. Nufink in thi tank, nufink in my lungz, nufink in my hed.
256, sumfin keeps tellin me. 256. 256. 256. I doan no whot it is but it keeps bleedin bangin on about 256 256 256 ol thi dam time. 2560; ther woznt enythin thare woz ther? I stand thare, swayin, suddnly finking, O no! Whot if I missd a opin doar? Whot if Ive gon past wharevir it wos I wos suposed 2 b goan?
256 256 256.
O shut up.
256 256 256.
O hel, ol rite; 256; whot’s 12 tyms 256?
Bugird if I no. 2 dificult 2 work out.
256 256 256.
Fukin hel Im goan 2 keep goan juss 2 get away from this dam noyse in ma hed.
256 256 256.
3050. Tunil vishin. No noyse but roar. 3055. Sparks gon. Not shure if Im stil climin or not. 3060. Hiest corps in thi cassil miby. Shit, am goan 2 dy & am outa reech ov thi bleedin kript; am goan 2 reely reely dy, 4evir.
Try kriptin but its hard, juss like keepin ma Is opin is hard. Get a hint ov a reply tho. A wee tiny smol voyse goin:
Bascule! Keep going! Keep going! We’re almost thare!
O, its Ergates. Ergates thi litil ant. Cum bak 2 me now.
Thass nice. But 1 ½ 2 brake thi conexin, iss 2 hard 2 mayntayn.
3065. Taykin off thi harnis now; iss yoosless, like thi kript. I can c 2 do it tho. Very coald now. Very very coald.
3070. Moar lite.
3071. Lite; doarway. Doarway 2 thi side. Doan bleev it. Juss anuthir haloosinayshin.
3072. Opin doarway, brite & warm. Lungz on fire. Goan 2 keep goan.
Fol.
Fol in2 thi doarway. Hit thi floar.
Iss gude 2 ly down.
Lites lite up, sounds sound.
Flash!-flash!-flash! Hiss. Vhoot!-vhoot!-vhoot! Clunk. Flash!flash! -flash! Hiss. Vhoot!-vhoot!-vhoot!
Blimey, I fink, cloasin my Is, I didn no dyin involvd such a bleedin comoshin ...
1
The girl looked down at him. Her brown face, framed by the white fur of her hat, looked open and honest. Her eyes held an expression somewhere between naïvety and innocence. She gave a little sigh, and her shoulders, arms and muffed hands all rose a fraction. She looked, smiling, away over his head and with those calm, regarding eyes half closed as though in recollection, said:
‘I did not know who I was; only that I might be able to help. I was born in the clan vault of the family Velteseri. They brought me here at my request. I was taken by—’
‘
Did
not know, Asura?’ he asked gently.
Did
not know, Asura?’ he asked gently.
‘- by people who wish to hold me and so try to stop me from doing what I am supposed to do.’
‘Asura,’ he asked, ‘do you know who you really are now?’
She looked down at him, eyes glittering. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Yes I do, Quolier.’ She showed her teeth and took one gliding step forward, so that she was between the open end of the A-shaped ice-craft.
Quolier?
he thought.
he thought.
‘Oncaterius,’ the girl said, and there was something new and un-girl-like in her voice that set his heart racing. ‘You slug; is this really the best you can do, impersonating an old lady scientist?’
He grabbed the right claw-oar and swung it at her.
She doubled up, dodging beneath the blow. He leapt from the ice-scull. The girl swung at him with one leg, but he cancelled the skates; this arena was within his control, and he had only ever allowed her to specify those rather than boots. The slicing kick brushed past his face and he felt the wind of it on his cheek. The girl staggered as the blade beneath her foot disappeared, but she did not fall.
The ice-scull trundled off a little way behind him; he lunged at the girl to force her back, then retreated two steps to the scull; he grasped the remaining oar and threw it away behind him, skittering and whirling across the ice.
The girl grinned at him, throwing away the hand muff with a similar gesture.
‘Ah,’ she said, glancing in the direction of the oar. ‘It’s to be a fair fight, then.’
He jabbed forward and swung the oar. The seven claw blades were needle-tipped and razor sharp; they hissed through the air in front of her face as she jinked back and side-stepped.
‘Well, you still have the advantage of me in terms of names,’ he told her, keeping himself between the girl and the other claw-oar, still sliding away across the ice.
‘As in so much else, Oncaterius,’ she laughed, dodging one way, then the other, as if trying to get past him. He was ready for the bluff, but not the double-bluff; the claw-oar slammed into the ice where the girl would have been as she slipped and skidded past behind him. He twisted, levering himself on the embedded oar to perform a sort of stunted vault and landing kneeling with the oar held out in front of him.
She had not attacked, and she had not attempted to run for the other oar, fifty metres or more away across the ice; instead she’d picked up the ice-scull, brandishing its thin A-frame in front of her now like a shield, and advancing.
‘We
have
met before, haven’t we?’ Oncaterius said, rising and hefting the claw-oar as he moved forward too.
have
met before, haven’t we?’ Oncaterius said, rising and hefting the claw-oar as he moved forward too.
‘Once or twice,’ she agreed.
‘Thought so,’ he said, thinking furiously, certain he knew this person in some other guise. He cancelled the image he’d taken on, removing any trace of Gadfium from his appearance. There was just a hint of a delay as this took effect, almost as though the alteration had had to be approved, which ought not to be the case.
He watched the girl’s tensed, intense face, framed by the ice-scull, edge closer to him.
He’d had enough of this. He attempted to cut out, back to base-reality, but the command failed. He was stuck here.
Now that
was
interesting, he thought. He tried thinking the girl unconscious, then imagined that the claw-oar was a gun, but neither worked. He attempted to summon help; that oaf Lunce was supposed to be waiting in the wings... No reply. The Serotin, then: ... again, nothing.
was
interesting, he thought. He tried thinking the girl unconscious, then imagined that the claw-oar was a gun, but neither worked. He attempted to summon help; that oaf Lunce was supposed to be waiting in the wings... No reply. The Serotin, then: ... again, nothing.
Alone, then, as well as trapped.
‘Problems, Quolier?’ the girl asked, still advancing warily towards him. One of the ice-scull’s rear blades caught the light and glinted, and for the first time Oncaterius realised that the spindly craft might be pressed into use as a weapon as well as a defence, and that he was just a little afraid. So this was how it felt.
He laughed. ‘No, not really,’ he said, then swung furiously at the girl. She fended the blow with the ice-scull; he was already swinging back, but that slice too was parried. He anticipated a counter attack and saw her moving as though to comply; he used his own momentum to whirl round and then brought the claw-oar up and then down where he expected her to move.
The claws ripped through the left arm of her coat, encountering some resistance, then slammed into the ice. He hauled the claws back out as fast as he could and ducked and twisted, but the A-frame of the little ice-craft came whistling through the air and a blade bit into his shoulder.
They separated a few metres, each carried across the ice by their own momentum. She bled from the left arm, tattered fur hanging dripping red onto the ice, her face still set in a strange, eager grin. His own shoulder felt numb and suddenly stiff. There was blood on the ice at his feet.
He advanced again, feinted and swung; the claw locked into the ice-scull’s frame; she twisted it and the oar was almost torn from his grasp. He pulled, skidded on both feet, and suddenly they were face-to-face through the A-frame of the craft, him pulling one way on the locked blades, her hauling in the other direction on the warping frame of the little ice-boat. Their breaths met in a single cloud amongst the carbon tubing.
Oncaterius tugged, feeling his feet start to slip, and planted them further apart. At least the shaft of the claw-oar was between them, preventing her kicking him in the balls. She was sweating. Blood was dripping from the elbow of her left arm. He felt the A-frame and the oar start to tremble as the girl’s strength began to give out. She grunted, her mouth set in a compressed line. He was sweating too and his shoulder hurt abominably, but he could feel her gradually yielding to him.
Her breathing was laboured now; their faces were less than half a metre apart and he felt her breath on his face, smelling of nothing. He wondered - with a sort of furious idleness that allowed his real concentration to focus on the physical struggle —how far down the reality-base the parameters here extended. They were each modelled for muscles, skeleton, cardiovascular system and appearance, but was there some sub-routine running which impersonated their intestinal flora? He really ought to look into these things more closely. Meanwhile, all that mattered was that he was physically stronger than this girl, and the trembling he was feeling through the ice-craft’s A-frame and the claw shaft was increasing as he forced the oar round.
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